


The First Rule of Glasses

by orphan_account



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: First Time, Getting Together, Glasses, M/M, Oral Sex, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2013-06-29
Packaged: 2017-12-16 14:31:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first rule of glasses is that you <em>don’t talk</em> about glasses. Of course, it’s a little difficult to ask people where your glasses have disappeared to when you don’t want them knowing that you wear glasses in the first place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Rule of Glasses

**Author's Note:**

> Um. I don't typically write porn. Ever. But my girlfriend just broke up with me the day after my birthday so I think I'm kind of entitled to writing something fluffy and hot and just not what I usually write. So there. Also, sorry for any typos, because I didn't proofread.

Clint Barton was completely calm. Nope – he wasn’t jittery at all. No siree. Deep breaths, deep breaths. Pretend you’re Bruce. Calm. Serene. Like water or the old people in kung fu movies. No panicking. 

Okay, maybe a little panic was acceptable. Just a little. Maybe a lot. 

Clint tugged a hand through his hair and squinted around his room. It was, quite frankly, an utter mess. Drawers were hanging open, books had been hastily taken off their shelves and strewn on the floor, and knick knacks that had decorated his dresser lay about haphazardly. Clint rubbed his eyes, sighing in frustration. He walked over to his bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet, swallowing down a couple more Tylenol pills and trying to will away his headache. He really was in quite a predicament. 

His glasses were missing. Normally that wouldn’t be too much of a problem. He wasn’t lying to Fury when he said that he saw things better at a distance: he was farsighted, after all. His nearsighted vision wasn’t even that bad, actually. It was just that he got terrible headaches trying to squint at the tiny text of his paperwork if he didn’t wear his glasses. That one of the many reasons he liked to skip out on his paperwork and hope that Coulson would do it for him. 

Of course, Coulson had a predicament of his own. As in, some stupid Asguardian witch had decided to turn him into a tiny black and white bird. Which unfortunately meant that Clint had to do his own paperwork, and Fury would have his ass if he didn’t get the mission report in ASAP. R&D and medical were doing their best to determine how to turn to Coulson back, but they needed all of the details about how he’d been turned. They also wanted Clint to fill out a seventy question long sheet about what had happened and Clint usually had to squint to read those questionnaires even with his glasses on. Without them, he was screwed. 

Clint dug through his medicine cabinet again, hoping vainly that maybe he’d just missed his contacts the first time around. While he found glasses more comfortable than contacts, he didn’t have much of a choice at the moment. Unfortunately, his contacts were missing, too. Fuck. 

Clint sighed and looked around his room one more time. Maybe he’d… left them somewhere else in the tower? Which was a completely ridiculous idea, because Clint never took his glasses out of his apartment where someone might see them and he never took out his contact lenses where someone might see them. Had someone _taken_ them? 

But, well, he honestly couldn’t think of anyone who’d do that. Well, maybe Tony, just to make fun of him and be an asshole, but why would Tony be sneaking around his room? Tony was annoying and liked sticking his nose where it didn’t belong, but Clint didn’t think that Tony would invade his sanctuary when he knew how much having his own personal space meant to Clint. Well, unless it was absolutely necessary. Certainly not for a stupid prank, though. 

Clint sighed again, wishing fervently that he hadn’t smashed his spare pair of glasses against the wall after reading the report Fury had sent out saying that Coulson wasn’t dead a few months ago. Now he’d have to go tromping around the tower playing hide and seek with his contact lenses and glasses. This was bound to end badly. 

\---

Clint had already checked the pool and the library when he came upon a strange sight in the living room. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, confused. 

Steve whipped his head around to look at Clint, eyes wide like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar. The super soldier was lying on the floor on his belly in front of the couch. He had one hand under the couch, as if grasping at something that had gotten stuck underneath. His mouth was hanging open slightly, too. Now Clint was _really_ curious. He blinked as he continued to looking at Steve questioningly. 

“I’m… looking for something,” Steve replied lamely, visibly wincing at his own flimsy answer. 

“Can I help you find it?” Clint asked politely, crouching down next to Steve. 

“No!” Steve blurted, his cheeks flushing. “I mean – I’ve got it handled. Shouldn’t you be writing your report about the incident with Agent Coulson?” 

“Right,” Clint replied awkwardly, standing back up again. “Well, I, uh, hope that you find whatever you’re looking for.” 

He looked at Steve for a moment longer before fleeing the room. He’d have to search the living room later. 

\---

Clint’s next stop was the kitchen. Once again, he was met with a surprising sight. He just stood there in the doorway for a moment, looking on curiously as Tony clambered up on the kitchen counter, teetering on it precariously as he tried to reach the highest shelves, grasping around for something in much the same way Steve had. Clint finally decided to intervene as he saw Tony start to waver backwards, losing some of his balance. 

Of course, Tony ended up toppling over anyways, due to how startled he was at suddenly feeling Clint’s hand on his back. At least Clint ended up breaking his fall. Ow. 

“Jesus, Clint! Don’t do that! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” Tony exclaimed as he rubbed the bump on the back of his head. 

Clint had to resist the urge to smirk. His chest wasn’t exactly the softest thing to land on. Tony glared at him anyways. 

“You were going to fall over anyways,” Clint retorted, scowling. “I was trying to _prevent_ you from cracking your skull open.” 

“Yeah, well, don’t do it again,” Tony replied, sounding a little more agitated than normal.

“What were you even doing?” Clint asked, glancing up at the cupboard that Tony had been digging through. 

“Nothing,” Tony answered shortly. 

Clint raised an eyebrow at him in disbelief. 

“What are you doing in here?” Tony shot back, pushing himself to his feet, Clint following. 

“Nothing,” Clint replied, doing his best fake innocent expression. 

Tony scowled. 

“Whatever,” he muttered before turning on his heel and walking out of the kitchen. 

Well that was interesting. 

\---

Once he was finished rooting through the kitchen and the pantry (he even checked the refrigerator), Clint stopped by the gym. Which is where he found Natasha perched on top of the lockers with her upper body stuck in an air vent. As soon as he entered the room she pulled out of the air vent and stared at him, her piercing eyes making him shiver. She glared at him and gracefully jumped down from atop the lockers, stalking towards him smoothly. Clint felt his stomach clench uncomfortably and he resisted the urge to swallow. Shit, what had he done?

“Have you taken them?” she demanded arms folded over her chest and eyes unblinking. 

“Taken what?” Clint replied, trying frantically to think of what he might have taken. 

Natasha didn’t reply, she just stared at him intently, studying his expression carefully for anything his body might involuntarily give away. Finally, she looked away and stalked around him out of the room, not bothering to say another word. Clint let out the breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Fuck, Tasha was scary. 

Of course, just as Clint had recovered from his Natasha induced trauma, he jumped what felt like nearly a foot in the air as a large hand came down on his shoulder. 

“Eye of Hawk!” a booming voice exclaimed enthusiastically, completely oblivious to the shock that he’d just caused Clint. 

“Thor,” Clint replied weakly, turning to face his teammate. 

“I am in need of your assistance,” Thor said, looking grave. “I am in search of a very vital object which has vanished. I fear that perhaps my brother may have stolen it, however I must first search the grounds to ensure that I have not merely misplaced it.” 

“Uh, sure,” Clint answered, frowning. A lot of people seemed to be looking for things. “What are you looking for?”

“They are tiny and delicate,” Thor described. “You place them on your face and they make shadowed things clear.” 

What the fuck? Was Thor trying to describe what Clint thought he was trying to describe? 

“Glasses?” Clint asked, a little incredulous. “You’re looking for glasses?”

“No,” Thor replied frowning. “In Asgard they are referred to as briller. I do not know what these ‘glasses’ are.” 

“Nevermind,” Clint replied, waving his hand in a ‘forget about it’ gesture. Who was he kidding? There was no _way_ that Thor of all people would need glasses. “I’ll keep an eye out for your… ‘briller’ things.” 

“My gratitude abounds, Eye of Hawk,” Thor answered, smiling, before he clapped Clint on the shoulder again and left the room. 

Clint sighed and shook his head before going over to check the lockers. Everyone was acting bizarrely today. Hopefully it wasn’t contagious. 

\---

Clint was getting desperate. He had nearly run out of places to search. In fact, all he had left were the labs. Unless, of course, his glasses were no longer in the tower. Where the fuck could they have gone? He had just finished rummaging through lab six and was walking down the hall to lab seven when he nearly collided with Bruce.

“Oh! Sorry, Clint,” Bruce apologized, shifting the box in his hands. 

“It’s fine,” Clint replied, his small smile fading slightly as he took in Bruce’s appearance. 

The physicist was usually pretty frazzled, but he was looking more out of whack than usual. His hair was sticking up every which way, his shirt was rumpled, and his eyes looked a little… well, crazed wasn’t exactly the right word. Maybe frantic? And was it just him, or was Bruce’s skin a little greener than normal? Clint resisted the urge to take a step back.

“I’ll just get out of your way,” Clint said, stepping to the side. 

“Wait, no – ” Bruce blurted, leaning towards Clint slightly. “Um, actually, I was wondering if you’d seen my glasses? I can’t find them.” 

“You can’t find your glasses?” Clint parroted, blinking in surprise. “Wow. I can’t find – ” Clint caught himself, “something either. Everyone seems to be searching for something, actually.”

“Oh,” Bruce replied, also looking surprised and a little owlish. “That’s odd. You don’t think someone stealing from the tower, do you?” 

“I don’t know,” Clint said, biting his lip. “I hope not. Natasha seemed pretty pissed about missing… whatever she was looking for.” 

“Hmmm. Well, I’d appreciate it if you kept an eye open for my glasses,” Bruce answered, his brow furrowed in thought. “I don’t have a spare pair. I could also look for whatever you’re looking for if you’d like.” 

“No, that’s okay,” Clint said, waving him off and hoping he sounded nonchalant. “It’s no big deal. You just go do science or whatever. You don’t have to waste your time. It’s not like I have anything else to do right now.”

“Okay,” Bruce replied after a moment. “Thanks.” 

Clint sighed and slumped against the wall as soon as Bruce was out of sight. What the hell was going on around here? 

\---

Clint had searched every square inch of the tower – he was sure of it. He slumped down on his bed and stared blankly up at the plain white ceiling of his room. Well, it looked like he was going to have to surreptitiously go glasses shopping. Now, how to sneak out and sneak back in without any of his nosy house mates knowing… 

Clint was halfway through his plan when he heard a strange rustling sound coming from somewhere in his room. He immediately was on alert quietly sliding off his bed and looking for the intruder. He heard the sound again and froze, listening carefully to determine the direction from which the sound was coming from. His eyes zeroed in on the air vent placed high up on his wall, next to the door. Clint grabbed his gun and carefully peered into the vent…

… to find a pair of beady black eyes set in a very feathery head staring back at him. 

“Jesus fuck!” Clint exclaimed, surprised and amused, his heart beating a mile a minute. “How long have you been in there, Sir?”

The bird – rather, Agent Coulson in the form of a bird – merely cocked his head and chirped. Clint laughed and removed the cover over the air vent, dragging over a chair to stand on so he could see inside. 

What he found was really not at all what he was suspecting. Coulson the Bird had made some sort of makeshift nest out of what looked like Clint’s missing purple t-shirt and the hand towel that had disappeared from the kitchen the other day. What was really surprising, though, was what was inside the nest. Eight pairs of glasses, five sets of contact lenses, and a fucking _monocle_. 

Clint looked back at Bird Coulson and blinked at him, mouth hanging open. 

“Shit, Sir. You’re a magpie, aren’t you?” Clint blurted out, flushing bright red afterwards. 

The bird merely chirped at him again. Clint was vividly reminded of the fact that the SHIELD experts had said that Coulson would probably be unable to completely control his newfound bird urges. They had been referring to flying and eat sunflower seeds at the time, but it looked like they were more correct than they knew. Then again, glasses weren’t particularly shiny, so maybe it was just a Coulson thing. 

Clint spotted the tortoiseshell rectangular frames of his own glasses near the center of the nest and reached for them, only to pull his hand back as Coulson the Glasses Obsessed Magpie pecked at his hand. 

“Ow! What the fuck, Sir?” he exclaimed, examining the small red spot on his hand. “Those are _my_ glasses!”

Coulson the Bird just blinked at him. 

“You haven’t gone completely magpie yet, have you?” Clint asked, a little worried now. Shit, this was actually Coulson, wasn’t it. 

Apparently it was, because the bird ruffled its feathers a bit, looking a little embarrassed before hopping over to its nest and picking up the glasses with its beak, tentatively offering them to Clint. 

“Thank you, Sir,” Clint replied, sliding on his glasses and forcing a slightly awkward half smile. “You know you’re going to have to give those back, too, though, right?”

The bird shuffled awkwardly again before bobbing its head in what Clint assumed was a nod. Coulson the Bird didn’t protest when Clint carefully scooped up his t-shirt/towel nest and moved it from the air vent and onto his bed. Clint then took all of the glasses out of the nest and laid them out in a neat row. 

“Where’d you get all of these?” Clint asked, forgetting that Coulson couldn’t answer in his current state. 

Coulson just looked at him. 

“Did you get all of them from the tower?” Clint questioned, hoping for a nod ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ 

Coulson the Bird gave what could only be classified as a shrug. Clint frowned at him. 

“Well you’re no help,” he muttered under his breath, yelping when Coulson pecked him again. 

“Fine, let me rephrase,” Clint said, rubbing the spot on his hand where Coulson had pecked him again. “Does one of these belong to Bruce?”

Another awkward bob-nod. 

“Does one of these belong to Thor?”

Another nod. 

“Does one of these belong to Tony?”

And another nod.

“Natasha?”

And another. 

“Steve?”

And another. 

“Okay,” Clint said, looking at the glasses. “We’re getting somewhere. Which ones belong to whom?” 

Coulson the Magpie carefully hopped around the bed, pulling away five pairs of glasses from the pile. Clint kind of recognized Bruce’s simple rectangular wire rimmed frames, and the horn rimmed ones were probably Steve’s. He was the one with the 40s fashion style after all. The wired, kind of abstract ones were probably Thor’s, considering they looked like they were glowing a little bit. The stylish red plastic frames had to be Natasha’s, because they were the only women’s pair, so the red metal frames had to belong to Tony. 

Clint looked back over at the remaining glasses. There was another pair of women’s glasses, also with a plastic frame. They were simple, black and rectangular. The other pair was also black, although these were hipster glasses with oversized lenses and thick black frames. There was also still the simple gold monocle. The four sets of contact lenses were off to the side. Clint wasn’t quite sure what he was going to do with them yet. They all had the same standard cases, so unless he wanted to try all of them on, he couldn’t tell which were his. 

“Did you take these from random people?” Clint asked, glancing over at Coulson. 

Clint hadn’t known that it was possible for a magpie to look affronted. 

“So, people I know then,” Clint said, looking at Coulson for confirmation. 

A simple bob-nod was his reply. Clint picked up the women’s frames and placed them in front of Coulson. 

“Pepper?” Clint asked, and was disappointed to see a head shake ‘no.’ 

“Uh, Jane?” 

Again, no.

“Darcy?”

Nope. 

“Bobbi?”

Coulson shot him an unimpressed look. 

“Melinda?” 

Coulson gave Clint a look that almost seemed to say “Since when are you two on a first name basis.” 

“It’s not like that,” Clint sputtered, trying not to blush. After all, they’d become friends after she figured out Clint’s giant schoolboy crush on Coulson. She teased him about it constantly, but promised not to tell as long as he didn’t say anything about her own crush on Hill. 

Oh, wait. 

“Are they Hill’s?” Clint asked, not holding out much hope. It was worth a shot, though. 

Coulson gave him a little bob-nod ‘yes.’ 

“Really?” Clint blurted out, trying to imagine Hill in glasses. “I thought she was, like, a robot or something.”

Coulson let out a little wheezing sound which might almost have been a laugh. If birds could laugh, that is. 

“Oh, shit, if those belong to Hill, is this _Fury’s?_ ” Clint asked, holding up the bronze monocle. 

Coulson the Magpie chirped in confirmation. Clint burst out laughing. 

“Okay, but what about these?” Clint asked, once he’d recovered from his laughing fit, gesturing to the last pair of glasses (the hipster ones). “They’re from someone I know, right?”

A nod. 

“Sitwell, maybe?”

Nope. 

“Quartermain?”

No again. 

“Woo?”

Nada. 

“Selvig?”

No. 

“Wilson?”

Aaaaaand no. 

“Damn,” Clint muttered, scratching his head. “Why don’t I ask you once you’re back to normal. I really wish you could talk right now.” 

Coulson the Bird gave him a look that seemed to say “Me too.” 

“Well, we better give these back now,” Clint said, getting up off the bed and gathering the glasses carefully. “Hey, JARVIS?”

“Yes, Agent Barton?” the mechanical voice replied. 

“Could you call a team meeting?” Clint asked. 

“Of course, Sir,” there was a pause. “Everyone has been notified.”

“Thanks,” Clint replied, smiling, before turning back to Coulson. “Do you wanna come?”

Coulson the Bird replied by fluttering up to perch on Clint’s shoulder, very careful not to dig his sharp nails in too hard. Clint had an urge to pet his feathers, but decided that the gesture could possibly be viewed as sexual harassment and refrained. By the time they got down to the living room, everyone else was already waiting for them. Clint frowned as he walked in, taking in the tension and agitation clear in everyone’s postures. 

“So, what’s the crisis?” Tony asked immediately, his fingers tapping impatiently on the table. “Because I have a lot of important work to do at the moment and I really need to get back to – ”

“Well, I’m pretty sure these will help with whatever work you’re doing,” Clint replied, handing Tony his red framed glasses. 

Tony blinked then bushed. He opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it, and opened it again, then closed it. 

“These aren’t mine,” he said once he’d regained his ability to speak. “I don’t wear glasses. Where did you come up with that bizarre idea, Bird Brain? And why are _you_ wearing glasses? Is this some sort of fetish you have? Because I’m actually not into – ”

Clint ignored him and walked over to Bruce, handing over his simple glasses, before going to Natasha and handing her hers. He continued around the table until everyone had their glasses. He then set the remaining pairs, the monocle, and the contact lenses down on the table, Coulson the Magpie hopping down off his shoulder to stand next to them. 

“So, uh, yeah,” Clint started, clearing his throat. “I guess we all wear glasses.”

No one said anything in response. 

“Agent Coulson wasn’t entirely able to curb his magpie tendencies, so that’s why they all went missing today,” Clint continued awkwardly. “One of the extra pairs of glasses here belongs to Agent Hill and the monocle belongs to Director Fury. I’m not sure about the last pair, though. Oh, and I wasn’t sure whose contacts were whose because they all have the same case, and I didn’t want to try all of them on, so…” 

“My contacts are missing,” Natasha admitted, surprising Clint. “And one of those probably also belongs to Hill.” 

“Wait – can we hold up a sec?” Tony interrupted. “Why do any of you need glasses? I mean, aren’t you supposed to have the best vision in the world or something, Katniss?”

“I’m farsighted,” Clint replied, a little defensively. “I see better from a distance.” 

“Well, what about Super Soldier here?” Tony asked, motioning to Steve. “And Mr. Norse God?”

“Um, well, my vision is actually _too_ good,” Steve admitted, looking embarrassed. “I get headaches from how bright everything is, so I wear glasses sometimes to help make things a little duller.” 

“Ah. Midgardians refer to briller as ‘glasses’?” Thor asked, realization dawning. “I require them to make distant landscapes no longer shaded.” 

“So you’re nearsighted?” Bruce asked curiously. 

“I do not understand that word,” Thor said, frowning. 

“You have trouble seeing things far away,” Bruce replied. 

“Ah. Yes,” Thor answered, smiling. 

“Then you’re nearsighted,” Bruce clarified. 

“Jeez, what sort of superheroes need glasses?” Tony complained. 

“Yes, well, you wouldn’t have ever known if all of our glasses hadn’t gone missing,” Steve shot back, looking annoyed at Tony who looked tempted to stick his tongue out. Clint wouldn’t put it past him, either. 

“Okay. Well, then,” Clint said, trying to break up the simmering argument. “Now that that’s solved, I’m going to go return these to Hill and Fury. Try not to lose your glasses again.” 

With that, Clint made a hasty retreat, although he was pretty sure he heard someone (probably Tony) mutter something about how he hadn’t lost his glasses, they’d been stolen. Clint gave a little amused huff and looked over at the magpie sitting on his shoulder and grinned. 

\---

The next day, Clint woke up to the smell of bacon wafting through his apartment. He blinked blearily, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and putting on his glasses. He slipped out of bed, pausing for a moment before grabbing his bow and tiptoeing in the direction of his kitchen. It was unlikely that an intruder who was cooking breakfast in his kitchen would be hostile, but it was always better to be safe than sorry. 

The sight that met him in his little kitchen was not at all what he was expecting, though. It didn’t look like Coulson was a magpie anymore. 

Clint stood there for a moment, gaping at the object of his affections, who was currently cooking breakfast in his kitchen in his apartment, his suit pristine as always. Just then, Coulson turned around, eyes moving directly to Clint where he was still frozen in the doorway. Coulson’s eyes examined him closely, making Clint blush when he realized that while Coulson was in his full suit, Clint only had a pair of pajama pants on. 

“Good morning,” Coulson greeted, tearing his gaze away from somewhere in the vicinity of Clint’s chest to make eye contact with him. 

Wait. Eye contact. 

Apparently those hipster glasses belonged to Coulson. Clint had never particularly been a fan of hipster glasses, but Coulson might just change his mind. Clint flushed again as he realized that Coulson was examining his own rectangular, tortoiseshell glasses. He’d forgotten that he’d put them on when he’d gotten out of bed. Clint reached up a hand and adjusted them self consciously, breaking eye contact with Coulson. 

“Good morning,” Clint muttered, finally daring to look back up at Coulson. “What are you doing?”

“Making breakfast,” Coulson replied in his ‘what do you think I’m doing?’ voice, although Clint thought he could detect a hint of amusement. “I promise not to burn anything.”

“Why?” Clint asked, starting to walk over to the kitchen to see what Coulson was cooking. 

“Why do I not want to burn anything?” Coulson asked. 

“Why are you making breakfast?” Clint clarified, giving Coulson his own unimpressed look. 

“I’ve been living in your air vent for the last couple of days,” Coulson shrugged, flipping over the bacon. “It’s the least I could do.” 

“Oh. Okay,” Clint replied. “I’ll go set the table, then.” 

\---

Of course the breakfast that Coulson made tasted wonderful. Well, the toast was a little burnt, but that had more to do with Clint’s toaster than Coulson’s cooking ability. Clint had to resist the urge to wolf it all down. He wanted to savor this for at least a little bit. Plus, maybe if he took longer to eat Coulson would stay a little longer. 

Clint glanced up from his plate to look at Coulson, only to find that Coulson was already looking at him. The intensity of his gaze made Clint shiver slightly. He hoped that Coulson hadn’t noticed, but if he did Clint supposed he could probably just claim that he was cold, as he hadn’t actually gotten around to putting a shirt on. Which may or may not have to do with the idle hope that Coulson was enjoying the view. 

“You should wear your glasses more often,” Coulson said suddenly, still looking at Clint. 

“And be questioned even more about my ability as a sniper? No thanks,” Clint retorted, looking down at his food again and trying not to blush as Coulson’s comment. 

“I suppose that’s a concern,” Coulson replied, sounding almost disappointed. “You look good, though.” 

Clint almost choked on the scrambled eggs he was eating. That was certainly not the reply he had been expecting. He glanced up at Coulson again, but Coulson wasn’t looking at him. 

“Maybe I’ll wear them around the tower more if you don’t steal them, Sir,” Clint replied teasingly. 

“Sorry about that. I don’t know what got into me,” Coulson replied, and oh – were the tips of his ears red? “And you can call me Phil.”

“I can’t – ” Clint sputtered, startled. 

“Clint, we’re eating breakfast together in your apartment while you’re still in your pajamas after I spent the weekend living in your air vents,” Coul – _Phil_ interrupted, amused. “I think it’s acceptable to be on a first name basis.”

“I… okay, Si – er, Phil,” Clint replied, trying not to turn any redder than he probably already was. 

They lapsed into silence.

“So, do you have a secret glasses fetish, or something?” Clint asked teasingly, trying to lighten the atmosphere. 

“Yes,” Phil replied, flooring Clint. 

“Uh. I-I meant that as a joke,” Clint sputtered again, staring at Phil… who started laughing. 

“Sorry about that,” he said, once he stopped laughing. “Just the look on your face…” 

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t exactly expecting you to say yes,” Clint retorted, cheeks still flushed. 

“Don’t worry, it’s not actually a fetish,” Phil replied in between another bite of toast. “I do find glasses attractive, though.” 

“Oh, so finding out that Captain America wears glasses must be a dream come true for you, then,” Clint replied, smiling, although his heart was sinking slowly. 

Surprisingly, Phil didn’t reply. They lapsed into silence again, and Clint couldn’t help but feel like he’d said something wrong. Did Phil think he was mocking him or something? 

“You know your – you look good in glasses, too,” Clint said suddenly. “You can actually pull off those hipster glasses.” 

Phil stared at him like he was looking at an alien and Clint tried not to blush anymore. 

“Um. That’s. I didn’t mean – ” Clint stammered, hoping he wasn’t being a total creeper now. 

“You really think so?” Phil asked, voice filled with disbelief. 

“Well, of course,” Clint blurted, blinking. “I mean, you’re always attractive, but the glasses make you even mo – ”

Clint snapped his mouth shut with an audible click. Shit. Fuck. He wasn’t supposed to say that. And Phil was still just staring at him. Oh god, he’d really messed this up, hadn’t he. 

“I thought I’d finally gotten rid of this dream,” Phil groaned suddenly, putting his head in his hands. “Fuck, Phil – what sort of idiot are you? Remember, life goal number one: stop dreaming about Clint. Er, Barton. Barton, not Clint. Fuck.”

Um, what?

“Sir?” Clint asked, completely confused now. “I’m pretty sure this is real.” 

“Like you haven’t ever said that before,” Phil grumbled, still not looking at Clint. “I should have known from the moment you walked in here shirtless. Only my imagination could have come up with that. At least I’m getting a little better, though. Last week it was just boxers. You’re wearing one more article of clothing this time.”

Clint decided that now was probably not the time to announce that he wasn’t wearing anything under the pajama pants. Not that there would ever be a time to announce that sort of thing to Phil Coulson. 

“You know, at least I figured this out before we started on the sex,” Phil continued, poking at his food with his fork idly. “Now I can just wake myself up and not have to go through that awkward moment at work when I first see you and all I can think about is whatever compromising position I imagined us in the night before.”

Oh. Well, Clint was familiar with that problem. It was always worst when Phil looked slightly sleep deprived because all Clint could imagine was that he looked that way because they’d stayed up all night fucking. Which, really, was not a good thought to have when you had to work in close quarters together. 

“Um. Sir, you’re really not dreaming,” Clint replied after a moment. “Unless I’m also dreaming, that is.”

Phil looked at him in disbelief, then pinched himself. He blinked at Clint. He pinched himself again. And blinked at Clint again. Slowly the color became draining from his face and a look of horror appeared. 

“Not dreaming,” he said in a voice that was the Coulson variation of a squeak. 

“Not dreaming,” Clint confirmed, pinching himself. 

“Oh. Oh, shit – I am so sorry. I’m not trying to stalk you or anything, I swear – ” Phil babbled, standing up abruptly from the table. “I will resign as you handler as soon as possible. I’m so so sorry, I – ”

Clint blocked his escape route. If possible, the panic in Phil’s expression grew exponentially, and he held up his hands in a defensive position, as if expecting Clint to punch him. Clint shot him an amused look and then grabbed the collar of his jacket and pulled him in for a kiss. 

Phil didn’t respond for a moment, too shocked to even move. Eventually, though, instinct took over, and soon Clint found himself back up against the wall behind him. Phil took over the kiss roughly, but not without finesse, although Clint could hear the occasional clack of their glasses bumping against each other as Clint’s slid down the bridge of his nose. He should really get the frames adjusted to fit better –

All thoughts of getting his glasses adjusted flew out of Clint’s mind as he felt one of Phil’s gun callused hands slide over his bare chest. He gasped into the kiss and tangled his hand in Phil’s short, dark hair, arching his back as Phil’s thumb ghosted over his right nipple. Phil broke the kiss, leaving Clint dazed and light headed, still trying to gather his thoughts. However, by the time Clint was able to register the fact that Phil’s mouth was disappointingly no longer crushed against his, Phil’s mouth started tracing the path that his hand had marked earlier. 

He laid wet, open mouth kisses over Clint’s chest, moving down to his stomach and licking over his abs before moving lower and sucking a bruise onto Clint’s exposed hip, which was not covered by his low slung pajama pants. Clint’s hands were still tangled in Phil hair, although he detached one in order to cover his mouth, stifling a moan as Phil’s lips brushed over an area of skin that never failed to send pleasure shooting through Clint’s body. 

“Don’t,” Phil ordered sharply, looking up at Clint through his utterly sexy hipster glasses (and boy, Clint never thought he’d ever think that). Phil reached up and dragged Clint’s hand away from his mouth, pinning it to the wall next to his hip. “I want to hear you.” 

“Fuck, Phil,” Clint moaned, shivering at the sound of the other agent’s voice. 

“Exactly like that,” Phil said, smirking. “Keep up the good work, Agent.” 

Clint was pretty sure he was going to come in his pants soon, and wouldn’t that be embarrassing. 

“Hurry up,” Clint growled, his voice husky and breathing heavy. 

“Greedy, aren’t you?” Phil said, although he was already pushing Clint’s pants down past his hips. 

Clint saw Phil’s pupils dilate even further – something he didn’t think was even possible at this point – as he took in the fact that Clint had nothing on under his pants, but Phil made no verbal comment. Clint blinked down at Phil, idly realizing that he was almost completely naked while Phil was still fully dressed, but, honestly, that only made him more aroused. 

“Wait,” Clint gasped, pushing Phil back slightly. “Condom?” 

“As your handler, I have access to all of your medical files. I know you’re clean,” Phil said, looking up at Clint through those fucking sexy glasses again. “I’m also clean, if you’d like to trade places later.” 

That was even a question? More than ninety percent of Clint’s wet dreams involved him on his knees in front of Phil at some point. 

“Fuck. God yes,” Clint gasped, leaning his head back on the wall. Clint could almost hear Phil’s smirk. 

The first touch of Phil’s lips to his cock sent a bolt of pleasure through his body so strong it almost paralyzed him. Phil sucked on the tip, taking more and more in while tracing circles over Clint’s hips with his fingertips. Clint let out another low moan, his breath hitching as Phil’s fingers trailed over that spot on his hip again and it took all of his willpower not to jerk his hips, thrusting up into Phil’s mouth. 

“Oh. Oh, god, _Phil_ ,” Clint gasped, his hands clenched into almost painfully tight fists. “Phil y-you’re going to have to hold me down – ”

Clint gasped again at the feel of Phil’s strong hands on his hips, pushing them back against the wall while Phil’s mouth continued to work its magic. Phil sucked harder and Clint’s hips tried to jerk forward, but Phil’s hands kept him in place. His fingers pressed into Clint’s flesh hard, and Clint whimpered at the thought of waking up the next morning to see bruises in the shape of Phil’s fingertips painted over his hips and oh –

“I’m almost – ” Clint stammered, expecting Phil to pull away, but instead Phil kept sucking until Clint was coming, swallowing down Clint’s semen. 

The next thing Clint knew, Phil was kissing him again, and kissing and kissing and –

“Wait,” Phil gasped against Clint’s lips. “Fuck, you don’t know what you do to me. I’m not going to last much longer if you keep kissing me like that.” 

“Mmm, well I wasn’t planning on letting you last much longer,” Clint said, amusement clear in his voice, “but I’d prefer it if you came in my mouth instead of your pants.” 

“Fucking smart ass – ” Phil groaned as Clint sunk smoothly to his knees, his fingers undoing Phil’s fly deftly. 

“You can have my ass next time, babe,” Clint replied as he tugged down Phil’s pants and boxers.

Clint didn’t waste any time once he had Phil’s cock out, though, fully hard and leaking. He licked a long stripe down the underside before taking it in his mouth and sucking, slowly increasing suction and steadily taking more and more into his mouth, relaxing his throat until he’d taken as much as he could. Phil’s thighs were trembling slightly under his fingers and Clint peered up at Phil through his sleek tortoiseshell glasses. 

“Fuck, Clint, you look so – I’m going to – ”

Clint continued looking up at Phil as he came with a shout, finally pulling off of Phil as he felt his cock softening against his tongue. He licked his lips as he looked up at Phil, cheeks flushed. Phil reached down and pulled him up for another kiss, licking his own taste out of Clint’s mouth as Clint clung to him, finally breaking the kiss when they both ran out of breath. 

“You are never going to be able to wear those glasses again without me thinking about you on your knees like that,” Phil said, voice rough as his gaze trailed over Clint’s swollen lips and back to Clint’s glasses which were still slipping down the bridge of his nose slightly. 

“That’s kind of the point,” Clint replied, grinning deviously. 

Phil let out a small huff of laughter and kissed him again.


End file.
